


but i crumble completely when you cry.

by atrocities_galore



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, dream is a pining idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29247471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atrocities_galore/pseuds/atrocities_galore
Summary: the gods favored george, they both knew that.clay gets caught as usual. just completely stuck looking at george. not even anything in particular, just savoring his presence like a sweet memory he didn't know he had. if he could be anything in the world, clay knew that the other would be an angel. soft wings and golden halos, blood of almost ichor and cheeks a rosy, lemonade pink. he'd be blessed just to have a glance spared in his direction by the deity, someone so utterly divine and perfect.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 84





	but i crumble completely when you cry.

**Author's Note:**

> finally getting the tagging system right?? perhaps?? have some soft dnf :)

clay swore he had dreams of george.

given, dreams are hard to remember, and it would be tough placing faces, but clay would bet a good twenty bucks on it.

he can think back to a sharp jaw and pink stained lips, smiling wide to reveal blaringly white teeth that could only belong to one. his hair was messy and a shade darker than brown, lighter than black. his eyes, though, they were the ones of umber and hickory, sweet enough that it would make his same pretty teeth rot. clay knew that it had to be him, he's studied george's face long enough that he could probably paint it perfectly from scratch if he had to. could brush his pale skin across a canvas with no hesitation, paint his eyes wide and mouth red with how lovely he is.

would find the exact color of blue to match his ever so evident shirt, perhaps rucked up to show the expanse of ivory skin beneath if he was daring. would tract silver lines into his epidermis, watch it trail down until their eyes meet once more, brown against green against nothing. and maybe oil would spill down their gnashing teeth, their opened minds and settled, peaceful cries. clay's dream would be tattered and rushed and smudged across the edges, but it would most certainly be the best he's had yet. there would be no sound; just the taste and touch and view of the most perfect daydream one could have.

he knows this dream a thousand times over; has gone through it like a painter goes through failed artwork. he's woken up and pressed his hands to his heart to make sure it was still beating, disappointed to find that george's claim wasn't there as well.

those are the moments where he forces himself out of bed, out of the comfort of his fake realities and falsehoods of his own making, and into the real world. where he cups a handful of a liquified glacier, splashes it across his face and shudders at the cool spikes digging into his cheeks and nose. clay watches the icy rivulets drip down his face in mock taunting, jeering at the fact that he can't have what he wants. and they adjust to him as well; falling faster when his lips form a scowl at his own image. 

he tries to go back to sleep every time, tries to go back to the dreamland where everything makes sense.

but sometimes the cobalt blue malforms, transitions into something more sinister. as if teeth grow in the place of love, bloodshot eyes and thousands of teeth taking the form of his lover. all hidden under his summer sweet disguise, demise present in every step he takes. but clay doesn't know that, the lovesick fool just takes his hand each time and lets him lead.

his face is muddled, and clay can't help but frown. he would reach out to try and touch his romeo's face, but would only be met with nothing. he would mumble george's name and wait for a response back. he would do anything for it to be back to normal, to have his lovely mural back to being pretty like always, but instead he's faced with the choice. wake up, become one with the life he knows he doesn't want to live, or stay in the nightmare of unrequitedness. they're one in the same though, and he knows that. has dipped his hands into the pool of fate only to be presented with the prospect of isolation. it's a cruel, otherworldly pain, but if it's the one he must go through to be with him, then so be it.

he would put up with being stung and pricked and poked in his nightmares forever, because at least george is here. at least george is by his side, not thousands of miles away between them. at least he has him, at least he is being hurt by the one he loves.

it was rough being in love with your best friend. it was everything the cliches warned him about and worse. clay spent nights thinking about george, days talking to him and all of his time with the wonderful boy on his mind. everything and anything related to him was constantly a reminder that this was real, that his affection wasn't some dream he could wake from. he didn't know if that was the worst part either.

at first, he thought the text he sent was a dream too.

clay didn't expect for george to actually say yes, either. all he knew was that he woke up one morning with three hundred dollars less in his bank account, and at least a dozen messages from the other himself.

plane ticket bought, he just had to hold out hope that his dreams would hold while everything came together.

his hope died out pretty quickly.

it's different than the others, and that's more than he could ask for, he guessed. not being able to control your own unconsciousness was the one downside to the blond that not a soul would know of.

maybe george, because that's who stood next to him in this world. he's not a monster either, and that also has to count for something. his eyes are normal and his mouth isn't sharp, he looks kind. he looks like the boy clay fell for, and that's enough to make him smile already. the blond reaches out with a smoothed hand, taps the other on the shoulder and watches him whip to face him once again.

"you scared me," george murmured with an exasperated sigh. his voice, it's not electrified or distorted either. it falls into the younger's ears like warm milk, splashes into his brain with a knowing welcome. he's listened to it on loop for hours on end, has talked to him and lost focus only because of how much he's studied his accent, his tone his everything. 

clay shuffles, his hands awkwardly shoved into his pockets now. "what are you doing out here?"

his own words hadn't even really registered to himself, taking a glance around their surroundings. they were outside, he knew that much, but the area wasn't familiar. snow dusted the ground lightly, threatening to melt if the evening sun came down any more. small bushes and ivory poked through the structure they used for shelter; a gazebo, maybe? the light wood used to build it up seemed beginning to rot, paint peeling at some points where the greenery didn't cover. brown and dead shrubs littered atop as well, perhaps it would warm, soon. 

he catches a glimpse of george's teeth chattering, and pauses to wonder if he could bring down the sun just to bring warmth to the other.

"i wanted to see you." the brunet's words sound sweet as they roll of his tongue, like lavender and honey mixed together. something languid, something solid that clay would lean onto for the rest of his life.

"you could've just asked," he taunts, a sneaky smile landing on his lips.

the shorter rolled his eyes, nudging the taller's shoulder. "you would've come anyway, stupid simp." and it's true, they both know that, but it still makes clay scoff all jokingly with a softened smile. he nudges george back, and gets shot a look that somehow still manages to make him breathless every time.

he gets caught as usual. just completely stuck looking at george. not even anything in particular, just savoring his presence like a sweet memory he didn't know he had. if he could be anything in the world, clay knew that the other would be an angel. soft wings and golden halos, blood of almost ichor and cheeks a rosy, lemonade pink. he'd be blessed just to have a glance spared in his direction by the deity, someone so utterly divine and perfect. he can't help but let his hand fall into george's own, feels his cold fingertips lace into his own.

"you're cold," clay mumbles, brow furrowing as he looks down towards the shorter.

the brunet opens his mouth to say something; probably protests against the older, but he's too late. the blond is shrugging off his jacket and draping it around a smaller frame than his own. watches it engulf him, make his cheeks flush with warmth that he so desperately needed. it has clay smiling, squeezing george's hand tighter just because he could.

another moment of silence, and the moment makes them both feel at home. at ease, like everything fit together perfectly. warm against cold, tan against pale. brown eyes against mossy green, the elder knew that he could die happy if they stayed like this forever. until his hand grew aching and his legs fell before him, to where he could no longer stand. even then, he'd spend his dying breaths making sure that george was comfortable, that he was safe and sound. his time with the other boy is precious, cherished in his heart amongst the good and bad of the world that he's experienced too much of.

yet his hands suddenly full of liquid, confusion swimming through his brain as he turns to the other.

he's practically melting, muddled together like a mural in the summer heat. oil tear tracks and lips in a shaky frown, george shoves his watercolor self into the arms of his beloved.

"clay-" he gasped out, nothing and everything against the blond's chest, "h- hurts, clay-"

why was he leaving him? why did clay have to go through this again, they had been happy. "i'm here, georgie, m'here-" it's all he could whisper, his throat growing tight as the boy he loves the most, the one who he finally had, just began to fall apart. is this what it feels like to lose a lover? one he never even got the chance to know, to tell, to keep, to love? it hurts, it hurts more than any blade or disease could strike through him.

but his eyes open once again, and he's home.

he's home, alone in his room.

sat up, cold sweat beading at his forehead. he rubs his face with his sleeve, the blond panting heavily with wandering eyes. it felt real, it felt like he truly lost george. for what reason he knew not, not why such terrible fate befell him in even a dream.

just like usual, he taps his chest a few times to make sure his heart is still beating, still longing for george. he can hear the echoes of his heartbeat in the concaves of his rib cage, booming louder and louder to prove that he is still alive, he is still loving and living for him. a sigh tumbles out of the blond's lips, a sweat slicked palm running through his hair as he looks at the time. 4:52am. his mornings always started with him.

he tumbles to his feet, standing wobbly on the hardwood while trying to blink away the blurriness of his vision. clay kicks the excess of covers back onto the bed, glancing around wearily before remembering what he was doing.

venturing out of the comfort of his room, the taller tries his best to navigate through his own dark hallway. slips a few times on the slippery hardwood against his socks, but it just wakes him up the slightest bit more. he would turn on the light if he was aware of his visitor's sleeping pattern, but by the sound of clacking of keys in the guest room, he already really had his answer. finally face to face against the white spattered door, the boy knocks a few times to hear to typing stop suddenly.

"..come in!"

that voice of his has clay opening the entrance immediately, met with the vision of a cuddled up george. face illuminated by the youtube page on his screen, eyebrows knit in confusion as he pulls his blankets more up. probably cold, he's always cold.

he's so beautiful, god, he's lovely. clay can't take his eyes off of him for one moment, feels his breath get caught in his throat, feels as if he might die if he looks away. hair ruffled against the pillow, lime green hoodie taking up the expanse of his everything; pale skin matched with the sweetness of his redwood eyes. it was a sight he wished he could imprint in his memory forever, could take a photograph of and store it away to look at until his final minutes on this earth. was that bad, or was that devotion? was there a difference?

he just wanted love. and love filled his eyes when george scrunched up his nose in confusion, "why're you crying, clay?"

the younger's eyes widened, reaching up to touch his cheeks and pulling back a wet palm. he was crying; why was he crying? maybe he was overwhelmed with how much he cared, or how much he lost in a world that doesn't exist. it didn't matter, it shouldn't be making the other worried. his fallen glass from his eyes means nothing in the eyes of someone so ethereal, it shouldn't.

"just a dream, it's nothing," he wavered, awkward stance still ever present. clay didn't know what he was supposed to feel, didn't think he could handle going back to bed only to be met with the prospect of something he couldn't have again and again and again.

"well, you uh-" george cleared his throat, eyes falling on anyone but the other in the room. he pats the bed next to him, scooting over some before returning their gaze. "-you wanna sit?"

with the eagerness of a dying man close to the last ounce of medicine on the world, the blond nods his head and drags himself over to the silky sheets belonging to his best friend. he watches the way george's eyes dart around, catching at his neck before snapping up to his eyes. trying to ground himself, clay knew the feeling. he knew the feeling of being completely devoured whole by his love, warm and heated and pooling everywhere around him. not knowing what to do with it all, or how to escape it. he knew the questioning of if he wanted to escape, he knew the flashing eyes and soft shrugs and everything of george, he knew. he knew everything but nothing he needed.

it felt like hot sugar on his tongue, coating his lips and tongue as he tried to speak. too much, too sweet. "it was about you."

where did that come from?

the brunet rose a brow quizzically, seemingly surprised at that revelation. "well- well of course you'd dream of me, you're always thinking about me," he teases, but his words sound dryer. sound too truthful. and the hot sugar dries as well on clay's tongue, a careful laugh approaching the air around them. george notices, obviously, and laughs with him. they laugh away the awkwardness, still shadowing their figures like a symbol of how they'd forever be.

"now i'm intrigued," he quipped, a small smile settling on his face, "what was it about?"

for a moment, clay's brain goes haywire. how could he explain? how could he get himself out of the situation he already brought himself in? did he even want to? he wanted nothing more than to tell george, than to spill out his heart and let the golden aftermath seep into their skin like the morning sun. he wanted to show his love, wanted his everything to go to the other boy even if it killed him. he wanted george, he wants him so badly it makes him ache. but the blond was scared, he was scared of the unknown. was scared of the possibility of everything crumbling to the ground, a pile of ashes and silver rusting their minds. it would hurt, it would break clay to his very last atom, and he would accept it. even if george never wanted to see him again, he'd understand and thank god for every waking moment he got to spend with him beforehand. it'd be the one blessing from above, where angels carried the brunet down and presented him to the world as the closest thing to perfection. and clay got to spend time with him, with the divine boy for most of his life. he's lucky, he's so lucky.

he dreamt of george, and even if it ended terribly, he was thankful. he was a lovesick fool that had nothing to do but love.

gooey, melted sugar gets caught in his throat. it feels warm, it feels hot enough to make him feel alive again. "it was about us, actually." the words fall off his lips with remorse coating their every being. "didn't end well, though."

"oh."

"yeah."

silence. it drudged up the blackest of feelings and worst of thoughts into clay's mind, tearing his gaze away from the older to stare at the ceiling. the sheets under them were too soft, the air around them was too hot. everything felt wrong, and for once, it was enough to bring even more tears out of his marsh green eyes.

maybe it was meant to be this way. maybe they would always be quiet rooms and awkward silences, fogged up minds and too much to say, not enough words in the world to describe what one another felt. it was a dance they both knew too well, but neither had the guts to bring up. perhaps they didn't even know, blissful ignorance being their downfall. any way that this went, it would end with them sleeping in separate beds and separate minds

his eyes drag back to george, and clay's bottom lips quivers. he's always been a crybaby, but this just felt to be too much to handle. and george saw, because he always does. "i'm here now, come on. don't cry." his pale, gentle hands reach up and cup the blond's cheeks, thumbing away the tears that spill down with harsh intent. their eyes still meet, and clay finally smiles too. he laughs, even, rough and a bit worn down, but it's there. it brings a grin to george as well, rolling his eyes and mumbling something about him being annoying. their worries are fleeting, now just focused on each other. on warm teardrops and cold hands.

clay leans into the touch, into the comfort of the one closest to him. he lets his eyes close, the vision of george in front of him burned into his memory. pretty pink lips and sleepy smile, he was everything to him.

"you're here," he repeats, breath shaky. he doesn't want to open his eyes, doesn't want this dream to end.

the sudden coming-to that this was real practically rocks the blond to his core, lungs stalling and heart stopping. he opens his eyes and george is still there; still holding his face dearly and still with that little half smile of his.

he can't help but practically crash into the other, arms wrapping tightly around the smaller with his face buried into his neck. it's something for clay to feel, to touch, to love. something solid, something george. his lavender shampoo and lime green hoodie, soft and pliant to him. "you're here," the blond all but sobs into the older's skin. george's arms wrap back around him, a soft laugh ringing in his ears and clay swears he's home. this is where he wants to be forever, holding his love close and listening to his melodic laugh. he could die happy here, this could be an oasis of his own making. his tears soak into pale skin, and he breathes in all things good in the world.

faintly, he hears a calling of his name, and he knows it's him. he knows that it's george, in this practical out of body experience. he can recall the presence of fear in his brain, shoved to the back and calling out as well, but he refuses to let it override his euphoria. the younger had experienced the latest of summer nights, the coldest of long seasons, the worst and the best of george, and he can't let his weeping thoughts make him think this could end bad. it would shatter him, and though he would take it, the thought is too much to bear. it's too much, it's too much, he couldn't do it.

so he raises his head, gives a little smile to the older as well. watches as their lips divide unto one another's diversities, dipping down before going up once again. "i'm uh, i-" george breathed out, exhaling a little too sharply. he's so sweet, he can't keep his eyes up for more than a moment.

clay, given a chance, wades into the pool of divinity and meets george in the middle.

his chapped lips press against george's own, learns the taste of true love. he doesn't know what to do with his hands, lets them caress the older's jaw and just touch him. he's real, he's real and he's the best clay has ever had. he's the art that michaelangelo and davinci wish they could've painted, the muse that only clay gets to paint and love and praise. he takes note of everything he knows in that moment; the way george's breath catches in his throat, the way his hands fall by his sides, fist the sheets to reassure his own self that this was real. the way that his cheeks warm a sugary red, the way they fit like the world's best puzzle pieces against one another. even when they part, even when their eyes connect once more and all they can hear are each other's giggles, it's real.

"i'm here," george mumbles once again, through his laughs and his flushed red. clay can't help but grin and pepper his cheeks in kisses; his forehead, his nose, his jaw his being. he loves him so much, and he's there.

the gods heard his prayers, and clay got his angel.


End file.
